


The Garden

by DisraeliGears



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Damen is smitten, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Laurent is a garden sprite, M/M, Mythological AU, now with a smutty ch. 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisraeliGears/pseuds/DisraeliGears
Summary: Damen finds a long forgotten ancient garden, deep in the forest. He also finds what he thinks might be the love of his life.





	1. Butterflies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onekingdomonce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekingdomonce/gifts).



> I love a good pseudo-mythological AU as much as the next gal. So here we go!  
> 

_ The kingdom of Akeilos is very old. _

_ There are stories older than the stones at the very foundations of the most ancient castles, and there are statues, weathered simply with time and air, with features worn beyond recognition. _

_ There are hidden glades of beauty and wonder that exists in the deepest shade. _

_ There are places in Akeilos that time has forgotten. _

_ The kingdom of Akeilos is very old. _

  
  


Damen rode blindly into the woods for almost an hour, galloping swiftly through the sun speckled underbrush, before he was calm enough to see straight.

He’d never been this angry before. This wretched, this  _ miserable _ .

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw  _ her _ . Her arm draped luxuriantly over his brother’s shoulders, the swell of her belly caressed lightly with her other hand. The light from the balcony of his brother’s private apartments framed them, a picture of seemingly domestic bliss.

He saw how she had glanced over her shoulder, the long golden coils of her hair cascading as she turned, and met his eye.

And smiled a wan, knowing smile.

And then looked away.

It had all suddenly made so much sense.

  
  


Damen pulled his gelding to a halt, both of them panting with exertion. The horse’s nostrils flared wide, showing the pink inside them as he sucked in great lungfuls of air. Guilt suddenly flared within Damen, joining the rage inside him. He swung onto the ground and patted the horse on the neck, his hand smacking on his soaking wet coat.

“I’m...sorry.” Damen said, his voice rough.

The horse shook himself, saddle and bridle flapping wildly as he did. 

Damen patted his sweaty forehead and, after a moment’s thought, slipped the saddle and bridle off him, setting it in the grass at the side of the path. 

The horse huffed loudly and began to lip daintily as some of the longer grasses, content for now just to eat. 

Damen looked at his surroundings, and realized he’d taken one of the longer footpaths that led away from the palace towards the older, darker and taller parts of the forest. It was used primarily for hunting and gathering, and grazing sheep and goats, not for riding, so there were virtually no tracks on the trail. 

When had he last been here? He was pretty sure it was on a dare, when he was young and Nikandros bet him he couldn’t go into the old forest at night alone. Damen remembered how terrifying it had been then, how black and shadowed, how the moon and starlight couldn't filter down through the thick canopy of leaves. 

Now, however, it was much less daunting. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in a pleasant murmur of background sound, the sunlight falling in dancing bright speckles across the ground and undergrowth. It smelled rich, of earth and life and living air.

Even more importantly, Damen was no longer a child. He’d been to war, shed blood of men trying to shed his, held men he knew well as they died in his arms. And, now, he’d lost what he thought had been the love of his life.

A forest held no mysteries or fears for him anymore.

Damen walked along the road, glancing back to ensure his horse was staying put. It had been quite some time since he’d just walked in the woods simply for the pleasure of it, and he decided it was about time. He would be king of these woods one day, no matter how unkingly he felt at the moment. 

The forest was warm and lovely, and he found himself oddly at peace despite the turmoil in his mind. It was as if the closeness of the trees around him absorbed the anger and confusion and dissipated it into so much mist.

Damen sighed deeply, filling his lungs with fresh air, and then stopped in his tracks.

He heard...bells? 

Damen pivoted, looking along the path for a newcomer.

No one came, and the woods were silent.

He looked around him into the green shade between the trunks, and saw nothing beyond the waving of leaves.

Damen took another three steps, and then froze again when the bells sounded, carried by a light breeze. But they weren’t bells, more...chimes? Metal chimes?

Damen squinted into the forest again, and then blinked.

There was a set of cobblestones, flat and ancient, sticking just proud of the soil, some fifty or so yards off the path.

Damen wasted no time in wading through the waist-high ferns and stepping carefully over the smaller ones, coming at last to the old cobbles. And as he got closer and closer, he saw more cobbles, and even a series of three ancient steps, leading deeper into the forest and up the small rise, winding through the enormous trunks of very old and enormously tall trees. The stones were made of the finest and richest marble, grown over almost entirely with moss.

Damen knew in a roundabout sort of way that there were ancient ruins scattered all over Akeilos, some in better repair than other, many built over and up as generations passed. 

He’d never heard of any in the old forest.

Damen followed the old trail, spotting further old parts of the ancient footpath, small sections of steps, and even a collapsed bridge over a tiny trickling stream. Every couple minutes, as the breeze blew between the trees, Damen heard the chimes again, getting louder and clearer but never offering a direction of the source.

It was after almost a half hour of following the path that Damen arrived at the bottom of a taller hill, with a long and cracked lichen covered staircase reaching up into the bright light of the canopy and disappearing at the top.

For the first time since stepping off the main road, Damen found himself questioning himself and his motives for following the unknown ancient path, but his resolve steeled when he heard the chimes again, bright and clear as a full moon on a clear night, coming from up the hill.

Damen began to climb, jogging up the steps and watching his feet carefully so as not to slip- the stones were broken in many places and the moss slippery. He was in good shape, though, and only just barely puffing when he reached the top.

Nevertheless, he found himself frozen in place.

At the top of the hill, surrounded by huge trees and covered in thick vines, was a palace.

Or rather...it  _ had  _ been a palace, at some time or another. Now, though, it was made of cracked and leaning walls with no roof, broken columns and partially collapsed masonry. The sun shone in bright beams of golden light onto the ancient marble, which seemed to glow from within. 

Damen approached slowly, staring with wide eyes as he neared. It had a grand entrance, leading into a dark entryway draped in massive roots and vines. The columns on either side of the door has collapsed, but the enormous stone lions were intact, covered in tiny white and blue flowers. 

He looked up at the height of the walls, some fifty or so feet up, and saw a flock of butterflies lazily riding the warm air currents, circling and flapping mildly.

The breeze picked up just a tiny bit, and from within the ancient palace, came the sound of metal chimes. 

Damen climbed the large steps, each taking a full stride from his long legs, and peered into the gloom of the dark doorway.

He realized, as he looked into the darkness beyond, that this wasn’t a palace, but rather an ancient mausoleum. 

As he stepped into the moist and close interior, shoving aside old vines, he saw that a long hallway stretched away, the ceiling arched and low, barely nine feet. All along the walls were carved frescoes of heroes, monsters, fairy tales and ancient kings and queens. 

He was able to see all of these because at the far end of the long, straight hall, some four hundred yards away, was bright white daylight and the sound of running water.

Damen strode slowly along the dark hall, his sandals muffled on ancient leaf litter and debris blown in from the forest. He recognised some of the frescoes and stories from one’s he’d seen and heard as a child- the fire breathing dragons, the kraken, the serpent pit, the Tiger King, all portrayed with the respective hero who vanquished them. Damen remembered pretending to be these heroes, running all over the castle trying to convince a guard or slave to play the monster. 

Damen heard the chimes again, echoing through the long chamber. All sounds were strange and circular in the hallway, the sound of running water getting louder and louder.

Damen neared the end of the hall, peering into the brightness, his eyes adjusting slowly, and he saw the shape of a huge fountain, a centre portion overflowing into a small bowl which in turn poured over into the enormous main basin a few feet below.

He blinked, clearing his eyes, and when he looked at the fountain again, his entire body and soul came to a screeching halt, and it felt as if his heart went still in his chest.

There, lounging decadently on the wide rim of the fountain, was the most beautiful creature Damen had ever seen. 

He was blonde like the sweetest honey, and pale as the winter sky. He wore simple drapery, in a similar yet older and less structured manner to Damen. The white silk hung off his lean body with ease and grace, both showing and not showing the flesh beneath. His limbs, long and perfectly formed, stretched languidly out across the aged marble, basking in bright sunshine.

And his face- oh, Gods above and below, Damen thought- his face. It was shockingly beautiful in an arresting way women usually were rather than men, yet there was little to nothing feminine about it. Every curve of it, from the crisp jaw to sharp, high cheeks, was masculine. And yet…

 It was a face that no carver or painter would ever dare to attempt to replicate. A face that would invoke the wrath of jealous gods and the obsession of lustful ones. A face that should adorn every currency, every flag, every portrait in the nation. 

Damen looked upon that face and realized he might have fallen in love. 

 

He watched, mouth hanging slightly open, as the sprite took his arm out from beneath his head and turned a page in the small, ragged and ancient book he was reading, and then tucked it back under his golden head where it had been as a headrest and cushion. His long legs were crossed at the ankle, and he unthinkingly wiggled his toes in a manner so horrifically endearing that Damen couldn’t help but grin. 

The breeze gusted in a gentle and welcoming manner through the garden, rustling leaves and bobbing the flowers. Damen started as right beside his head, chimes rang out, bright and high. He glanced at them- they were indeed metal, small and cylindrical, hanging around a central piece of weathered obsidian. They calmed as he watched them, swaying and tinkling gently. 

Damen looked back at the wonderful creature at the fountain, and froze. 

He was being stared at. 

The sprite hadn’t moved even a hairsbreadth other than to turn his head, lapis blue eyes fixed on Damen in a manner so direct and unwavering, he felt all the hair on his arms stand on end. 

The garden fell silent suddenly, as if the air had been sucked away. The sunlight went from dynamic to static, at once hot and pressing. The buzz of bees and singing of birds all ceased. Even the noise of the fountain seemed to dim into nonexistence.

And still the sprite didn’t move. He didn’t even appear to breathe.

Damen inhaled deeply, willing himself into a calm he didn’t really feel, his heart suddenly thrashing away ferociously inside his chest. 

“Hello-” He began, and took a step forward.

All at once there was an effusion of movement, shimmery and fluttering, as the sprite seemingly exploded into a flock of silver-winged butterflies. They wheeled about into the sky and disappeared in a matter of moments, leaving not so much as a single insect. 

Damen blinked.

He strode cautiously forward, approaching the fountain. The sprite was indeed gone, leaving no indication that he’d only seconds before been lounging there…

...other than his book, which lay open on the soft grass.

Damen looked around, squinting into the sun. The regular noises of the garden had resumed, including the gentle tinkle of the chimes.

The sprite, and the butterflies he had become, were not to be seen. 

Damen looked down at the book, and he stooped to pick it up. He looked at the pages, and he felt his eyebrows rise. 

It was written in ancient Akeilon, in a dialect not spoken or written in almost eight centuries. He’d learned snippets of it through his childhood education, and though he mostly recognised the letters and even some words, he couldn’t actually read it. He knew there were countless ancient scrolls and books hidden deep in the library, all like this one. 

He turned to the front page of the book, and after a moment he deciphered the title.

_ Clybon and the Dragon of the West. _

Carefully, Damen closed the book and set it on the edge of the fountain. 

So the beautiful sprite liked classic heroic adventure tales did he?

Damen could work with that. 

  
  
  


The next day, Damen carefully picked his way back up the moss covered staircase, humming to himself as he did so. He was in a bright and happy mood, to the surprise of everyone in the palace. 

They’d expected him to mope, rage, yell, perhaps smash a few antique vases. Instead, he’d woken early and taken his breakfast in the library, seeking the assistance of three old and flabbergasted library attendants. They’d collected what he asked for, grimacing when he said he would be taking the ancient and crumbling texts out of the library, but nonetheless unwilling to argue with the future king. 

Damen adjusted his leather pack carefully, knowing full well the value of its contents. 

The weather was much as it was the day before, warm and mild, but with less breeze in the trees. It wasn’t until he was at the top of the long staircase that he heard the chimes. 

Damen climbed the big steps into the mausoleum, passed through the long hall and emerged out into the garden.

It was exactly as it had been the day before, except the beautiful sprite was missing.

As was his book. 

Damen continued to hum, approaching the fountain and putting down his bag. He opened it and carefully, reverentially, removed his books and placed them on the wide edge of the fountain, right where the sprite had been laying. 

There was six books in total, all adventure books detailing the exploits of ancient heroes. Most were incredibly famous and existed in Akeilon culture still, like  _ The Fire Serpents, Abelos and the Kraken _ , or Damen’s childhood favorite,  _ Tales of the Tiger King _ .  Damen arranged them neatly, and then looked around at the empty garden. 

“My name is Damen. I saw your book yesterday. I brought you some more that I thought you might like.”

His voice didn’t echo in the enormous garden, so padded were the huge walls with vines and leaves. It carried across numerous beds of wild, untended but beautiful flowers, alive with bees and birds. Further into the garden he saw a large pond, shaded by a huge, umbrella shaped tree that draped long wisps of leaves into the water below. In the sunnier portion of the water bobbed waterlilies, and a hummingbird was flitting from one big white bloom to another. 

Damen made his way to the tree, careful not to tread on any of the flowers. As he approached, he saw that set against the trunk of the tree, almost swallowed up, was a ancient marble bench. It was surrounded by giant bleeding heart bushes, their strings of sweet pink bells dangling in the cool shade of the tree. 

Damen stooped and brushed off some dead leaves, and then sat on the bench. It was remarkably comfortable, and as he leaned back against the tree trunk, he found himself shockingly at peace. 

  
  


When Damen jerked awake, the sun was shining into his face. Rubbing his eyes with his palms, he realized he must have fallen asleep in the cradle of the tree trunk, surrounded by warmth and quiet birdsong. 

Judging by the angle of the light, he’d been there for some time. 

Damen stretched luxuriantly, yawning and shaking a leaf from his curls. His back popped, and he rolled his shoulders as he got to his feet. 

He started back towards the main entrance, and watched as a pair of ducks dabbled in the shallows nearby. His presence didn’t seem to worry them at all. 

Because of how the garden was laid out, his approach to the fountain was to climb a small rise. 

And because of this, he didn’t see the beautiful sprite until he was within a few yard of him. 

Damen froze utterly, on the far side of the fountain from the entrance to the long tunnel. 

There, sitting cross-legged on the ground, back leaning against the edge of the fountain and reading one of Damen’s books, was the gorgeous sprite, once again in the form of a shockingly beautiful young man. 

Damen’s heart was hammering in his chest as he stared at the pale expanse of shoulders on display, at the glint of gold in his cornsilk blonde hair. 

What could he do? Last time he’d announced himself, the sprite had turned into butterflies and disappeared, which Damen desperately didn’t want to happen again. 

If he could only  _ speak  _ with him, ask his name… did sprites have names? He was sure they did, but perhaps he’d confused them with some other magical conjuration. 

On the other hand, Damen figured, if the sprite turned and saw him staring…

Only one thing to do.

Damen cleared his throat, loudly and clearly. 

The sprite leapt to his feet, whirling around as he did so, in a motion so graceful no court dancer could ever replicate it. He clutched the book to his chest, and his gorgeous blue eyes were wide with surprise, and then immediately narrowed in suspicion.

He did not, however, turn into butterflies. 

Damen very slowly held up both his hands, palms out, in a universal gesture of surrender. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” he said carefully, “My name is Damen.”

The sprite’s eyes studied him in quick, decisive movements, before returning to meet Damen’s gaze. 

“Yes. I know. You said earlier.”

Damen couldn’t help but huff out a laugh of relief. The sprite’s voice was just as lovely as his face, chilly as a wet spring morning and terrifically attractive. 

“Do you like the books?” asked Damen.

The sprite looked down at the book in his arms, and then at the other two.

He looked back up at Damen, and his eyes were angry and calculating suddenly. 

“Did you curse them?” he asked, his voice sharp.

Damen blinked.

“Do...people often curse the books you read?”

“Before this place was forgotten, adventurers used to curse the gifts they brought me, in hopes it would bind me to them.” his eyes went briefly dark and hard.

Damen raised an eyebrow.  “I see. And does that work?”

The sprite gave Damen an unamused look. “Do I look bound to you?”

“No. I supposed not.” Damen looked down at the fountain, and then back up. “May I...come around the fountain? So I’m not speaking across a water feature?”

The sprite’s face didn’t change, just remained blank yet slightly wary.

“I don’t see anything stopping you.”

“Promise you won’t turn into butterflies as soon as I move?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

Damen walked slowly and purposefully around the perimeter of the fountain, watching and being watched every step. He came to a stop a respectful distance away, and after a moment’s thought, he sat down on the grass, mindful of the hem of his chiton riding up too far.

The sprite didn’t blink or move.

“I see you were reading  _ Tiger King _ . That one was my favorite when I was a child.”

The sprite looked down at the book again, and then seemed to think for a few seconds. Then, carefully and delicately, like the closing of a flower in the evening, he sat down on the grass, four or so yards away from Damen.

“I like it. But I feel sorry for the queen.”

Damen smiled hugely. He couldn't help it.

“I think you will like the ending then.” 

The sprite gave him a blank look, and then looked down into his lap and turned the book over three times in his hands, watching it closely.  

“Do all sprite’s read books?” Damen asked, “I’ve never heard of that before.”

The sprite looked up at Damen briefly, and then back down at the book. His hair fell across his forehead, partially eclipsing his face.

Damen could hardly breath for the beauty of him. 

“Laurent.” the sprite said, “My name is Laurent.”

Damen beamed even wider.

“I like that name. I suits you. It sounds Veretian.”

“It is and it isn’t. When I got this name, they were one kingdom, Vere and Akeilos. It is both and neither.” 

Damen felt his mouth fall open.

“That was… gods, Vere and Akeilos have been separated since what, more than a thousand years ago?”

“Yes. And that is how long I’ve lived in this garden.” 

Damen stared. He stared at the beautiful cream-white skin, gleaming under the afternoon sun, at the delicate and tidy bare feet, and at the lovely arch and swell of the cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

“You’re a thousand years old?” he asked, feeling breathless.

Laurent shrugged noncommittally. “More or less. One tends to lose track of time after the first five hundred years.”

“So…” Damen said slowly, “when you said ‘before this place was forgotten’, how long has it been since anyone’s been here?” 

Laurent sighed deeply, gently placing the book down on the grass. He leaned back onto his hands, tipping his face up to the sky and closing his eyes. 

Damen’s heart kicked up in his chest with ridiculous desire. He was smitten with this divine creature.

“Three hundred years? Maybe more? The last man to come here was a pilgrim, I think. Or maybe a priest. Either way, he tried to speak an incantation that would bind me to his will, so I drowned him in the pond.”

Damen felt his eyebrows raise of their own accord.

“You...drowned him?”

“Yes. And I would have no problem at all drowning you, should you prove false or a trickster.” 

As he said all these things, Laurent didn’t open his eyes or move at all, just basked in the sunlight. 

He did, however, after a moment’s silence, crack one eye and fix it on Damen.

“Even if you are obscenely large.”

Damen looked down at the grass, toying with some with his fingers.

“I don’t want to bind you to anything, least of all me. I just...saw you yesterday, and I thought maybe you would want more books to read.”

When Damen looked back up, Laurent was watching him again. 

“Why?” Laurent asked, “No mortal does anything without a self-serving purpose.”

“Because you’re beautiful.” Damen said, before he could stop himself, “and when I saw you, I was enchanted.”

Laurent continued to stare at him, motionless except for a tiny breeze rustling his hair.

Then, in a motion so fast it barely registered, he was in front of Damen, so close that Damen jerked backwards in surprise, falling almost onto his back in the grass.

Their faces were inches apart, Laurent looking down at him with a calculating expression. His eyes darted all over Damen’s face, as if adding up all his attributes to find a fault.

Damen, for his part, could hardly breathe. He could feel gentle warm breath on his lips, and could smell something akin to a lightning strike as Laurent moved.

Laurent’s perfect eyebrows knit as he looked back into Damen’s eyes.

“You are royalty. You have the face of the royal line of Ios. What is your true name, ‘ _ my name is Damen’  _ indeed?” 

Damen swallowed. Laurent didn’t look upset, but rather vindicated in his findings.

“Damianos. I am the crown prince of Akeilos.”

“And what were you doing wandering the dark and forgotten woods, oh Prince Damianos of Akeilos?” Laurent smirked slightly, and Damen couldn’t help but look at his lovely mouth.

“...venting my frustrations.” Damen said, trying not to sound too sheepish.

Laurent made a scoffing noise and withdrew, sitting back on the grass. He was much closer now than he had been, and Damen could see all the stunning perfection of him up close, down to the tiny little golden hairs on his limbs. 

“What frustrations does a prince, waited upon hand and foot from his birth until his death, have to vent?”

“The woman I thought I was going to marry and make my queen one day, is pregnant. With my brother. And it was kept secret from me until yesterday.”  Damen levelled a challenging look at the sprite, who rolled his eyes. 

“Life is fleeting for you mortals. Take it from someone who has lived the years of ten- do not try to hold on to things that do not wish to be held on to. This woman of yours would appear to want something else. Let her have it.”

Damen let out a long breath, and then flopped back onto the grass. It was plush and welcoming, and he watched a fat bee buzz around over head. 

“I’ve no desire to hold on to her. Not anymore.” Damen let his head loll to the side, regarding Laurent, “And despite the fact she is the most beautiful woman in Akeilos, she can hardly hold a candle to you.”

Laurent snorted and looked away across the fountain.

“I think you have mistaken me for some other form of demon or demiurge. Flattery will not get you anywhere with me.”

“How about more books? And what if I come...visit you. Just to talk.” Damen rolled onto his belly and propped himself up on his elbows, examining Laurent’s profile, “It must have been lonely here, for a thousand years with no one but the dead the keep you company.”

Laurent’s head turned slowly to look at him, eyes cautious and jaw tight.

“If you ever want to send me away, you can.” Damen added.

Laurent continued to look at him, as if seeking any possible crack in Damen’s facade, or the tiniest shadow of a lie.

“You would bring me more books?” he asked slowly.

“Yes. Any you wanted.”

Laurent tilted his head, and then slowly shifted so he was closer to Damen, looking down at him again. His blue eyes gleamed bright and formidable.

“If you try to trick me, Damianos of Akeilos…”

“You have my expressed permission to drown me in the pond.” Damen finished.

Laurent smiled then, wide and genuine, and he laughed lightly. Damen couldn’t fight the swoop of complete and utter rapture that overtook him, and he didn’t want to.

Laurent sprang lightly to his feet. He collected the six books into a tidy stack, and then looked back at Damen, who was getting to his feet and brushing grass off his chiton. 

“You may bring more books tomorrow. And I would like other nationalities too, not just Akeilon. Bring Patran, Vaskian, Veretian, any you can find.”

“You can read those?” Damen asked.

“I can read everything.” Laurent replied primly.

“Of course you can. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Laurent looked over his shoulder at Damen, eyes surveying him. Damen saw him linger on the swell of his arms and chest, and his thighs beneath his chiton, and Damen preened slightly by shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Laurent’s eyes snapped up to his, and he gave a wry smile.

“No. You shouldn’t be.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter of romance and some sickly sweet naughty bits ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for my darling onekingdomonce , who is the content machine keeping this tag alive.

In the three and half months since Damen has been visiting the ruins deep in the woods, he can count the times he and Laurent have touched, skin to skin, on one hand.

 

The first was about a week after Damen brought books for Laurent that first time.

It was breezy day, cooler, but the wind in the sheltered garden was negligible and the sun warm, so Damen lay stretched out on his back on the grass, hands behind his head, listening to Laurent read in ancient Patran.

Damen didn’t understand a word, but the sound of the language poured of the sprite’s tongue like honey, and Damen enjoyed just watching his gorgeous face as it fluidly formed around the long dead language.

Laurent was laying on his stomach, chin rested on one hand, the other hand turning pages. He was so engrossed that he didn’t notice as a bumblebee, rotund and clumsy, hummed into the space between them and landed on Laurent’s bare white shoulder.

Damen smirked and reached out with one long arm, gently placing his fingertips to Laurent’s skin so the bee would climb on to them. 

At once, Laurent ceased reading aloud, and his blue eyes snapped to Damen’s arm.

Damen froze, realizing what he had absentmindedly done. 

He was a crown prince- his touch was never something he had to think about. But he realized at that moment that a barrier had been inadvertently crossed.

Laurent’s nearest eyebrow raised up slowly.

“A bit familiar, aren’t we, your majesty?” he said dryly.

Damen swiftly pulled his hand away, leaving the bee where it was.

“Ah...sorry. I didn’t think…sorry.”

Laurent smirked at this, mirth lighting up his eyes and making him all the more terribly beautiful.

He sat up and reached back over his shoulder, where the bumblebee made the quick flight to his fingers as directly as if commanded. Laurent held it out between them, smiling at it as it walked across his knuckles on fuzzy black legs. 

“Here. Since you like him so much.” 

Laurent leaned closer and gently placed his hand on Damen’s upper arm, waiting for the bee to wander off in its own time.

Damen’s heart leapt into his throat the moment he felt the sprite’s cool hand, smooth and gentle, press against his skin. He couldn’t take his eyes off Laurent’s hand, close as it was, so starved was Damen for every detail of it. He barely felt the tickling of the tiny bee claws walking along his tricep, he was so focused on the place where electricity seemed to spark between Laurent’s fingers and Damen’s arm. 

Laurent withdrew his hand, smiling a small secret smile, watching the bumblebee pause to clean itself in the outside of Damen’s shoulder.

“I’m surprised he didn’t land on you first.” He said,  “You’re easy to mistake for a tree. Or possibly a boulder.”

Damen chuckled breathlessly. “It’s you who looks like a marble figure. Considering this is where he lives, I imagine he’s most comfortable landing on one of those.”

Laurent gave him a look that was at once disparaging and amused. 

“I told you, Damianos; flattery will not get you anywhere with me.” 

  
  


The next occasion was just as memorable, because though it did not have the potency of being the first, it made up ground in other ways. 

That day was hotter, the sun direct and cruel, and so Damen had flopped heavily onto the marble bench in the shade of the huge tree as soon as he arrived. 

“I barely made it up those steps today.” he announced to the space at large, wiping at his forehead. 

Laurent was not visible yet; he sometimes was already in his human form when Damen arrived, others he simply materialized in a cloud of butterflies. More often than not, if he had the chance to startle Damen by his sudden appearance, he would. 

This time however, the flock of silver butterflies came in a twisting and twirling flock through the sunlight over the pond, catching rays of light in their wings and flashing gold and sky blue, before they came over to the shadowed glade and settled into the shape of Laurent, sitting cross legged amongst the little patch of lily of the valley. 

He was smirking at Damen’s wilted posture.

“Too warm for you?”

“Yes.” Damen replied shortly. He held out the small leather satchel he used for transporting books back and forth.

Laurent immediately perked up as he took it, and any bad temper Damen might have had about the heat evaporated immediately. There was nothing he loved so much as the unabashed delight Laurent took in the new books Damen brought him. 

Laurent carefully set the satchel down amongst the little white flowers, making sure not to crush any of the sweet little bells as he did so, and withdrew a book from within.

He opened it slowly, long white fingers taking care with the aged leather binding, and glanced at the first page.

Then he gave Damen a sardonic look.

“Really?  _ The Nereids and Spritefolk  _ by Colcoma?”

Damen grinned and leaned his elbows onto his knees, near enough now he could see the page Laurent had open, but also the striations of lighter and darker blue in his eyes. Being this close to Laurent was intoxicating, and made Damen’s heart kick up in his chest.

“I found it on a shelf deep in the older parts of the library. I thought you might find it entertaining.”

Laurent snorted and opened a page at random, read for a moment and then made another snort of derision.

“‘The mythical folk that inhabit the wilds of Vere and Akeilos are not to be trusted. They are as likely to lure and eat an unlucky wanderer as they are to assist him.’ What absolute drivel.” 

Damen couldn’t help but smile even wider. “Eat me? Really? If only I’d known this sooner, I’d never have kept coming back here.”

Laurent’s nose wrinkled slightly at this, but then he smirked darkly.

“No sprite in their right mind would ever want to eat you anyway. You’d be far too tough and chewy.”

Damen burst out laughing, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest.

“You’re right. Too much gristle. Like eating an old bull. Or an ox.”

Laurent got to his feet, brushing his chiton primly. 

“Move over,” he said, waving at Damen on the bench, “you take up about as much room as an ox as well.”

Damen blinked, and glanced at the bench. It was quite narrow, comfortably large for him to sit on easily, and perhaps room enough for two smaller people, but not with room to share with Damen on it.

He swallowed and slid over as far as the bench would allow, and watched in delighted awe as Laurent came and sat directly beside him, book on his lap.

Their hips touched, only thin fabric separating them, and their arms pressed along each other, from shoulder to elbow. Damen could hardly breathe at the shock of it, how Laurent’s chill skin felt against the warmth of his, how his marble-white arm looked pressed against the rich brown of his. 

Laurent seemed largely unfazed by the new seating arrangements. He cracked the book again and his eyes skimmed the page, seeming not to notice how Damen stared at him owlishly.

After a few moments of reading, Laurent made another disparaging noise.

“This book is ludicrous. He says that the Furies can be wooed into benevolence by a suitably handsome man or an adequate gift. Not any Fury  _ I’ve  _ met, and I’ve met several.”

Damen blinked. “What?” He was too distracted by Laurent’s knee, which was  _ almost _ touching his.

“Now there is a creature that would be more than happy to eat you. Bones and all, probably.”

“...what?” His kneecap was so perfectly formed, the muscles of Laurent’s thigh attaching to his knee in the most lovely manner possible.

Laurent gave Damen a raised eyebrow.

“You aren’t listening at all are you.”

“What? Oh...uh...sorry…” Damen ran a hand through his hair, grimacing guiltily, “It’s just...you’re very distracting.”

The look Laurent gave him was about as dry as a desert at noon.

“Er...sorry.” Damen said again, “Would you...read me some? I’ll...I’ll listen now.”

Laurent turned a page and his eyes searched it. 

“Here. Would you like me to tell you what the river spirits in Eleusinia are  _ really _ like?”

Damen nodded.

  
  
  
  


After that, the touches stayed rare, but every time they occurred, they stopped Damen’s heart in his chest like the strike of lightning. Twice Laurent reached up and caught the big lazy curl that fell over Damen’s forehead and brushed it aside, smiling when it simply bounced back to where it was. 

Most recently, while they were sitting in the grass, Damen had been in the middle of telling the story of his father’s maritime conquest of the Artes fleet, when Laurent had simply reached over and taken Damen’s hand in both of his, holding it carefully and seeming to look it over curiously.

Damen’s words died in his mouth as he stared, entirely at a loss.

Laurent ran his thumbs along the long bones on the back Damen’s hand, and then glanced up at Damen absently.

“Well? Continue.” 

“Oh. Er, right.” Damen cleared his throat.

He resumed his story, but was infinitely distracted by Laurent carefully and methodically examining his right hand, running his fingertips over every scar, large and small, from years and years of training and battle.

He slowly worked his way up Damen’s forearm, trailing up the pucked skin of a scar from a spearpoint driven past his shield 3 years ago, to the inside of Damen’s elbow. Here Laurent gently ran his fingers over the delicate skin on the prominent veins, watching as they popped back up after he pressed them down. 

At this point, Damen’s voice failed completely. His entire being was focused into the soft touches that were trailing gradually up his arm, and trying desperately to contain the arousal that was riding in him unchecked. 

Laurent didn’t seem to care anymore if Damen continued his story. He ran both hands up over the swell of Damen’s bicep, head tilted at an angle as he did so. He appeared engrossed, and if Damen wasn’t mistake, the paleness of his cheeks was tinged with pink.

As Laurent’s hands approached the join of his shoulder and chest, Damen became aware that his breathing had quickened, and he was no longer watching Laurent’s hands. Instead, he watched that beautiful face, as close to him now as it had ever been. 

Laurent’s fingers stopped at the top of the swell of Damen’s pectoral muscle, and then he went motionless as a statue for quite some time. His eyes snapped up to Damen’s, and the flush of his cheeks darkened.

Damen thought for sure he would move away, perhaps snatch his hand back, but instead, Laurent looked back down at his hands caressing Damen’s arm and shoulder and gave a small, abashed smile. 

“You’re very...attractive.” he said quietly.

Damen let out a huff of laughter, unable to form words to respond. 

Laurent withdrew his hands, leaving Damen suddenly terribly bereft, and lay back on the grass, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

“You were telling a story, remember?” he prompted.

  
  


When Damen strides into the garden this next time, he’s in a fractious mood. He knows that he shouldn’t bring his many grievances with him when he comes to visit Laurent, but this time he’d needed to escape and be somewhere -  _ anywhere -  _ that wasn’t the palace.

He strides to the fountain and sits heavily down on the edge of it, both hands burying themselves in his hair, elbows on his knees. 

He sits for some time, exasperated anger coming off him in waves. But then he remembers his father’s face, lined with weariness and the fatigue of illness.

_ A wife, Damianos. Secure the power of Akeilos, the future of our names, while I still draw breath. Nothing would bring me more happiness than to see you wed, with children of your own. _

Grief and confused hurt climbs up Damen’s throat, blocking it, and his eyes sting with angry unshed tears. He sniffs hard, rubbing his palms into his eyebrows.

Then, a gentle tickling sensation on his wrist.

Damen lifts his head and looks at his arm, letting out a tired huff of laughter.

There’s a silver butterfly on his wrist, slowly opening and closing its wings. 

“Yes. I know. Sorry.” Damen tells it, “It’s been...a rough day, to say the least.”

The butterfly uncoils its long strange tongue and begins tasting the skin on Damen’s wrist, compound eyes flashing bright.

“Do you just hold conversations with random insects now?”

Damen jumps in surprise and almost falls into the fountain, the butterfly leaving in a flash of silver. 

Laurent is standing a few feet away, arms crossed and lips curled in wry amusement.

“What? Oh! Sorry, no, I… I thought it was you.” Damen watches as the butterfly lazily flaps away and finds a more interesting peony flower.

Laurent approaches and sits beside him, head tilted at an angle as he appraises Damen.

Damen tries not to blush under the intense scrutiny.

“You are upset. What happened?” 

Damen sighs and scrubs his hands through his hair again.

“I don’t want to burden you with it. It’s… what is it you say, ‘mortal stupidity’?”

Laurent just blinks like a cat and waits.

Damen chews his lip and looks out across the garden. In the early afternoon sun, bees and dragonflies drift through motes of sunshine, small birds swooping in and out of the shafts of light.

“My father… is dying.” Damen says, and as the words form he realizes the profound truth of it, “He… has been for a few months now, I think. My ascension is coming… much sooner than I ever wished it too.”

Laurent just continues watching Damen’s face, his own unreadable.

“There are very few who would not look forward to becoming a king.” he says simply.

“I used to. When I was young, I was so excited for my future. But now, all I see are the things I must lose in order to become king. My father, my freedom…” Damen looks at Laurent, meeting those ocean blue eyes, and his heart seizes with the agony of what remains unspoken. “Lately all I want from my future is to stay with you, here, and ignore the outside world. But I can’t. I won’t be able to.”

Laurent watches Damen’s face for quite some time, the sweet garden breeze making his blonde hair rustle across his forehead. He reaches up and holds Damen’s chin, just for a moment, thumb drawing across it, before releasing it.

“You will be a great king, Damianos. I’ve seen many kings come and go, some bad, some good, some terrible. But I think that it will be you who will be the first truly  _ great  _ king. I am excited to see it.”

Damen opens his mouth, but Laurent cuts him off.

“ _ And _ … if you truly wish to see me when you are king, well...there isn’t  _ really  _ anything tying me here to this particular garden. There hasn’t been for many years. So as long as the palace in Ios has a garden enough for, say, a few butterflies…” Laurent’s eyes are twinkling now, pink lips twitching upwards.

Damen nods dumbly.

“My mother. My mother had a garden put in in the old central courtyard. It’s beautiful, and quiet, and no one ever visits there since she died. Just me and the occasional groundskeeper.”

“Well then?” Laurent says, with an air of finality, an eyebrow raising.

Damen nods again, smaller this time. He can’t take his eyes off Laurent’s face, so close and so beautiful he can’t remember how to breathe or blink.

“Yes. If… if you want that, then yes,  _ yes _ .” 

Laurent’s cheeks flush pink, and he stands up, stretching slightly and looking around. He runs a hand through his hair, looking around the garden lazily and smiling a secret smile. After a pause, he glances at Damen again.

“It’s plenty warm enough today, wouldn’t you say?” he says lightly.

Damen gets to his feet.

“Er… yes?” 

With no preamble, Laurent walks off, leaving Damen to trail behind him as they walk deeper into the garden. There are small foot trails of old, worn-smooth marble that lead to the various areas of the garden, and Laurent is leading them down one Damen has never gone down before, which approaches the grass banks of the pond.

“Wait...you’re not drowning me  _ now _ are you?” Damen says.

Laurent shoots him a look over his shoulder, half amused, half bored.

“No, Damianos.” 

They stop at the lowest point of the bank, where the grass is soft and short, the water clear and the bottom made up of small smooth stones.

Laurent gives Damen an appraising look, and then with one graceful movement, pulls his chiton off over his head and drops it onto the ground.

Every process of thought in Damen’s head, some of which was preoccupied with possibly being drowned after all, comes screeching to a halt. 

He watches, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open, as Laurent steps into the pond, miles and miles of smoothe,  _ gorgeous _ skin on display for Damen’s admittedly starving eyes.

Everything, from the muscles around his shoulder blades, to the tapering dip of his waist, and certainly to the wonderful swell of his behind, is perfection. 

Damen swallows hard. He may be more than well versed in the bodies of others, let alone simple nudity, but he can feel himself reacting with the same level of vicious, nervous excitement as he had when he was about fourteen. 

Laurent turns around, walking backwards though the water, cheeks and nose pink, eyes alight with knowing mischief. 

Damen can’t help but let his eyes wander, and  _ gods _ , every part of him really is as perfect as a dream.

Laurent seems more than aware of Damen’s gaze, and he goes still, inviting and daring at once. His eyes are darker now, and the air becomes thicker, hotter even, when their eyes meet.

“Well? Are you just observing, or participating?” Laurent says quietly, and then lets himself sink gracefully into the water, eyes never leaving Damen.

Damen reaches up slowly to the pin on his shoulder. The fabric falls to his waist, revealing his chest to the warm breeze. Laurent watches.

Damen knows how he looks, knows his body is honed to within a hair's breadth of perfection. But now, under the unwavering gaze of the sprite in the water, he feels no need to preen or pose.

He reaches to his hip, where it’s the work of releasing another, smaller and less decorative pin to let the whole piece of clothing unwind and slip to the grass.

Laurent’s eyes are dark, his lips bright pink as he parts them, and Damen can  _ feel  _ his gaze calmly roaming Damen’s body with undisguised intrigue. 

Damen is aroused, visibly so, but unexpectedly Laurent doesn’t tease. He says nothing, in fact, as Damen steps into the pond, just watches with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, as if his own reaction to Damen’s body surprises him. 

Damen passes Laurent in the water, his own heartbeat ticking up when he sees how Laurent’s breathing is visibly quickened, and how the flush goes down his chest below the surface.

He reaches the deeper water and dives shallowly into it, surfacing and turning back as he glides easily into the sunlight.

His feet touch the bottom, and he smiles at Laurent, still in the shallows.

“Well? Are you observing or participating?” he asks, arms skimming through the warm water. 

Laurent makes a noise, both dismissive and amused, and swims closer, ducking under the water as he comes, his golden hair sleek as if it were melted.

He stops when he’s only a few feet away, his bright blue eyes almost glowing. He looks more artless like this, younger even, and it makes Damen’s entire being ache with fondness. 

“Yes, you would be difficult to drown.” Laurent says, lips twisting and eyes teasing.

Damen grins hugely despite himself, and Laurent returns it, his teeth gleaming white.

Damen holds out his hand, palm up, and delights with how quickly Laurent takes it, and how he feels so warm in the coolness of the water.

Laurent slides closer of his own accord, and Damen can feel the charge in the air again, feel it behind his ribs and under his tongue. 

Laurent’s eyes fall to Damen’s chest, partially exposed, and he lifts his free hand, fingers trailing first across Damen’s clavicle, leaving a wet streak behind, to the soft dip in the centre. Damen watches his face, how his wet eyelashes fall onto his pinking cheeks as he looks his fill. Damen can’t stop himself from smiling and stroking the hand in his with his thumbs.

Laurent trails his hand down the valley of the centre of Damen’s chest, then presses his palm over Damen’s heart. He smiles, a small and delighted thing, as it beats faster under his touch.

He looks up at Damen, and Damen is helpless to stop himself from leaning down, faster at first and then slower at the end to gauge his welcome, and pressing his lips to Laurent’s.

Laurent inhales sharply in surprise, the hand in Damen’s clutching tightly, but lets himself be kissed, softly and carefully.

Damen pulls slowly back, running his tongue over his own bottom lip to chase the warmth and taste of him; he’d tasted of spring rain.

“I really wanted to do that.” Damen says quietly, watching as Laurent’s eyes slide slowly open. His lips are delicately parted still, and he takes a deep inhale as he meets Damen’s gaze.

There is a moment of motionlessness, where Damen waits for the reaction, watching as Laurent’s mind visibly recalibrates in fits and starts.

Then he suddenly is stooping down again when Laurent reaches up with both hands and pulls him down into another kiss, the sprite’s lips hungry and hot.

Damen can’t help the groan that escapes his throat, and he lets his hands hold the delicate waist in front of him as Laurent pulls him in closer.

His mouth is wicked against Damen’s, teasing and withholding, and then opening to let Damen lick inside. His fingers are tight in Damen’s hair, tugging him in impatiently. 

Laurent breaks the kiss, panting wildly, his eyes wide. 

“I’ve never kissed a mortal before.” he says, eyes darting all over Damen’s face.

Damen blinks.

“You’ve kissed an  _ im _ mortal before?”

Laurent regains some of his guile then, because he responds “Wouldn’t you like to know?” before diving back in, pulling their bodies together beneath the water.

Their skin is slick together, leaving little to the imagination, but gods, is Damen so glad he doesn’t have to imagine. He barely has to move his hands to Laurent’s hips before his legs are wrapped around Damen’s waist, arms around his neck.

Laurent makes a whimpering noise into his mouth when his own arousal, hot and hard, presses against Damen, and Damen damn near comes in that exact moment.

“I would...very much like to touch you.” Damen says, breathing ragged, not wanting to take his lips off Laurent’s even to speak.

Laurent nods, and Damen drops his mouth to suck at the tender skin beneath his jaw, rewarded immensely when Laurent clings even tighter and keens in his ear.

Droplets of pond water crawl from Laurent’s skin onto Damen’s tongue as he kisses down the white throat, his mouth leaving hot red marks behind. 

Damen snakes a hand between them to grasp that terribly endearing part of Laurent, which twitches against his palm as soon as his fingers close around it.

Laurent gasps quietly, dragging Damen’s mouth back to his when he begins to stroke gently. He rocks his body with Damen’s movements, so utterly sincere in his pleasure that Damen is almost choked with immeasurable desire.

“ _ Ah… _ ” Laurent gasps against his lips and winds his arms tighter around Damen’s neck, “ _ Ah, Damen… _ ” 

Damen kisses him, not trusting himself to say anything lest he profess undying love for the spectacular creature coming apart in his arms. 

Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad a thing.

Laurent shudders as he comes, clutching Damen to him and gasping, open mouthed, as he spurts hot into the water between them. Damen devours every sound, chasing each one with his lips to save for every second they might ever be apart.

Laurent shudders and goes lax against him, head falling to Damen’s shoulder, breathing fast and hard.

Damen encircles him with his arms, pressing his face into the damp cool skin.

His own arousal is a fog that surrounds him, but Laurent in his arms is an impossibly bright light, eclipsing all else. 

The sprite sits up a bit, cheeks still bright with exertion, lips swollen and red. He runs his hands back through Damen’s wet hair, his eyes hooded. Never has anything been so beautiful, and Damen holds him even tighter.

Laurent tips their faces together, pressing his mouth to Damen’s. It’s slower, hotter, easier.

He pulls away gradually, luxuriantly, and looks into Damen’s eyes.

“I hope you don’t have any pressing plans. Because I don’t see us doing anything besides this for the foreseeable future.”

Damen burst out laughing, and the sunlight paled in comparison when Laurent grinned in reply.

“I think I’m amenable to that.” 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on Tumblr at DisraeliGearsGoesTumblin

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on Tumblr at DisraeliGearsGoesTumblin!


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